


Wordless

by Cosmo_is_Beink_Melon



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, Star Trek: Mirror Universe
Genre: Anal Sex, Captain Bashir does enjoy himself eventually, Drugs, Dubious Consent, Giving blowjobs to bottles is a thing right?, Gul Garak is a real S.O.B., Kanar bottles and their very sexual uses, M/M, Mirrorverse, NSFW, PWP, Porn Without Plot, Possibly Non-Con, Sex Slave, Super Dub-Con, Terran slaves, Weird AF Cardassian Anatomy, super explicit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-16 16:49:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10575444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cosmo_is_Beink_Melon/pseuds/Cosmo_is_Beink_Melon
Summary: Gul Garak purchases a Terran rebel from a slave trader. Captain Bashir quickly discovers the pain and pleasure of a kanar bottle. Filthy Mirrorverse dub-con smut.(Note: This one-shot is completely unrelated to my other Mirrorverse story, The Mirror.)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sintero](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sintero/gifts).



> I wrote this story for [Sintero](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Sintero/) who draws and writes the wickedest, most delightful things.
> 
> I adore the Mirrorverse and frequently imagine all the naughty things that could happen over there. I also wanted to experiment with a story written completely without dialog.
> 
>  
> 
> **I can not stress enough, if you're triggered by dub-con/non-con elements, please please don't read. The last thing I want to do is hurt anyone. Try[The Book Club is a Lie, and Bashir, a Liar](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8548354/chapters/19598593) instead! It's fluffy and fun :)**
> 
>  
> 
> Otherwise, if you're completely intrigued by the tags and the potential of Mirror!Smut... step right this way! Sexy biz awaits you!

A better man would have taken comfort knowing his comrades had escaped.

A better man, Bashir was not.

His veins hardened with the rhythmic pump of icy hatred.

_ Fuck them all. _

Terran cowards.

Scum.

They were as dead to him as if he'd put a phaser to the backs of their heads, and, one by one, executed them all.

The thought offered only hollow satisfaction.

The ice inside him melted and then boiled to rage. He wordlessly howled, straining against the chains that bound him. If he ever saw any of them again--

But he wouldn't.

Because Captain Julian Bashir breathed borrowed air, existed on borrowed time.

He knew the stout Cardassian negotiating animatedly nearby with his captor was going to kill him. He’d turn every so often, his cold blue eyes roving Bashir’s body, before returning to the heated debate over the price “that Terran Rebel” was worth.

Yes, Bashir would die at his hands.

_ Eventually. _

The slave trader approached Julian, whose hands were bound behind his back back. He grabbed the chain attached to the heavy collar around his neck, hoisting him up. Bashir choked and wrenched himself against the grip.  If he’d been able to draw breath, he might have spat. Instead, he wriggled like a fish on the line.

The Cardassian cocked his head and nodded thoughtfully at the trader who released him. Bashir hit the ground hard, coughing and drawing in precious air.

Credits exchanged hands.

Bashir mindlessly lunged at the pair of them, but the chains which bound his wrists together also tethered him to a pole. He met the end of his slack-- snapped backward-- and howled again as his shoulder muscles burned.

The Gul chuffed and drew nearer.

He grabbed Bashir by the hair and yanked his head back so that they glared at each other like lovers with murder in their hearts.

He stroked the pad of his thumb across Bashir’s bottom lip. 

Bashir bit that thumb hard, drawing blood.

His head cracked to the side as the Gul yanked his hand free and smacked him.

The sting was good. It cut through his numb rage.

_ Beat me to death _ . 

If Captain Bashir was going to die, he wanted to  _ die _ . He was afraid of neither death nor  _ getting dead _ . But he hated the  _ boredom _ of waiting for his death to come.

Death did not come.

The trader produced a hypospray, showing it to the Cardassian who considered it for a moment. Whispered words were exchanged. The Gul nodded.

Bashir tried to struggle, but the trader tugged on the chain, pulling his head down in a facsimile of a bow. He felt the hypospray at his neck-- the whoosh of pressure and the chill running down his spine as the undoubtedly nefarious substance began to spread through his body. 

The effects were almost instantaneous.

He was warm.

No, hot.

So fucking hot.

His mind was… Thoughts were… His tunic was so  _ itchy _ .

The fabric heavy.

Sweltering.

What he wouldn’t give to be unburdened.

The collar was removed, and the chains. He was delivered to his new Cardassian owner bound only with a simple rope.

And Captain Bashir did not resist.

********

The Terran had been on sale for several days, passed over by all who happened by the slaver’s stall. Garak had seen him many times. At first, he was repulsed by the man’s angry scowl, his unkempt hair, the tattered rags barely concealing his lithe frame.

But as happens, his disgust eventually turned to intrigue.

And intrigue to lust.

When next he approached the stall, it was with every intention of buying the creature. Whether he would sample him immediately, or let him age like a fine bottle of kanar, Garak was undecided.

He only knew he wanted to break that savage spirit.

Garak was furious when he approached the slaver’s stall to find a strutting young Cardassian haggling over the Terran’s price. The Glinn was known to use up Terrans with little regard. If he bought Garak’s prize, there would be nothing left when he was done with it. No will to break, no body to-- nothing left.

It was a simple thing, leaning over the man’s shoulder, whispering a name into his ear. A threat.

His eyes went wide. He paled impressively. And, wordless, he turned and fled the stall.

Garak made the purchase instead.

They were now in his quarters where he examined his new acquisition, walking slowly around him. His face was flushed a wild red, underneath the rich, sandy color of his skin. His eyes were glassy and distant. And that gaudy Terran sex organ tented his dreadful trousers, drawing the eye to a large, spreading wet patch stained them.

It was beautiful and wicked.

Producing a bottle of kanar, Garak uncorked it and inhaled the sweet aroma. He ran the tip of his tongue around the rim of the bottle, just for a taste of the delightful liquor.

He wondered how well the Terran could handle kanar.

Garak tilted the bottle to the man’s lips. He fought,weakly, not to drink, and so Garak dug his fingers into either side of the slave’s jaw, forcing his mouth open. The electric blue liquid filled his mouth, a bit dribbling out the side.

He almost choked on the thick, sweet liquid and tried to spit it out, but Garak held his mouth closed and forced him to swallow. Again. And again. Until he’d force-fed him nearly the entire bottle.

After the Terran recovered his breath, Garak demanded his name.

Bashir.

Blearily those eyes followed Garak as he finished off the bottle. As he ran his fingers over the cool, bulbous form of the glass, an idea came to Garak. He set the empty bottle in front of Bashir.

He gestured broadly and Bashir attempted a glare. It made the Gul laugh.

His acquisition wasn’t complying with appropriate haste, so Garak knelt before him, taking the Bashir’s head in one hand and forcing him down onto the bottle. Bashir gagged as the ribbed glass passed between his lips. His tongue slid out and over the surface, his teeth clinking against the glass.

Oh, he was delightfully unpracticed.

For several long moments, Garak guided him in fellating the bottle. He imagined what Bashir must be feeling, the glass would be hard, sweet, cool. Alien, but also a soothing balm for his hot mouth. His Terran slave fell into the act, pressing down hard until the lip of the bottle hit the back of his throat and he coughed and spluttered.

Garak stood back and watched, his whole attention, for once, engaged. It was a full minute before Bashir realized he was no longer being guided, that he continued to suck the kanar bottle without prompting.

Light dawned in those sickly green eyes.

It was another ten seconds still before he pulled off and remembered to sneer.

He had enjoyed it. Garak could tell. It pleased him greatly.

There was no waiting now. Without removing his uniform, Garak began undressing Bashir. There was a thrill in taking a Terran blade he’d kept as a trophy, and using it to slice that hideous tunic off Bashir’s thin frame. He held the man by the scruff of his neck as if he were a whelp… and cut the clothing away.

It fell off him in ribbons and he moaned as the cool air touched his skin.

His dripping cock was freed. Bashir looked down at it in dazed wonderment and then back up at the Gul as if he could not believe it belonged to him.

Taking the kanar bottle in his mouth had only been the first act.

Wordlessly, Garak circled him, his eyes roving every inch of lean muscle.

How could he have ever been repulsed by this creature?

_ I hate you, _ those Terran eyes said. But also,  _ Fuck me! _

By the time Garak placed the saliva-slick bottle behind Bashir, the slave could hardly contain himself.

Bashir was aflame with color and desire, his cock straining, his wet lips parted. He complied easily as Garak pushed him down onto the long, ribbed length of the bottle. His head fell back, long hair brushing his shoulder blades, and he glared anger and lust through slitted eyes.

Garak could feel the tremors in Bashir’s thighs as he lowered himself by slow centimeters. There was a moment when his entire body stilled and tensed and a low, pained moan left his lips. He couldn’t adjust the cool glass with his hands bound and so with great pleasure, Garak assisted.

He pushed too hard, too quickly and his Terran cried out-- but when he eased up, merely holding the bottle, Bashir began to wantonly press down. It was a beautiful sight, each obscene bulge of the Kanar bottle disappearing inside, swallowed by writhing muscle.

Bashir moaned and begged in words that made no sense to Garak, and when he glared up at him, Garak bent his head and kissed the Terran’s feverish lips.

He expected Bashir to try to bite him, relished the the thought of biting back, of their blood mingling as their tongues tangled. Instead his lips gave immediately and Garak felt Bashir’s tongue slide into his mouth.  _ Incredibly hot _ . The warm-blooded heat of the Terran was shocking.

He whispered devious words in Kardasi against Bashir’s lips and, with great reluctance, broke away to watch his possession ride the kanar bottle with reckless abandon.

He moved, barely aided now, on the bottle-- and was puckered and spread around the glass in such a deliciously obscene way that Garak could not control the slow eversion of his cock. The head brushed the rough inside of his pants.

With every downward thrust, Bashir’s dark, fleshy cock jerked and twitched.

Garak did not know enough about human physiology to know if Bashir could achieve orgasm merely by riding. Nor did he care. He grew jealous of the bottle and he moved closer, catching Bashir by the hips. He had to fight the man to keep him from pushing down.

Digging his fingers into the supple flesh, he tore the bottle free. It made a wicked slurping noise as it emerged and Bashir cried out furiously.

For a moment Garak stared, intrigued, as his slave’s asshole gaped red and raw.

Holding the Terran up by his bound wrists with one hand, he unzipped his pants with the other.

The Gul was too old to fuck on the floor, and yet, as he pulled Bashir into his lap, he couldn’t be bothered to move them into the other room. There would be  _ plenty  _ of time for playing in bed. 

Later.

********

Bashir howled as he felt the long, slick length of Garak enter him.

Yes. God. Yes.  _ More _ .

His head swam and the whole room was so fucking  _ hot _ .

Almost as hard as the bottle, and oddly shaped, that cock went  _ deep _ . He was going to pass out if it went any deeper.

He wanted it deeper.

He fell forward, his head hitting Garak’s shoulder. For a moment he laid there against the cool scales as the beast moved inside him, and then he sunk his teeth into Garak’s neckridge.

The cock inside him seemed to bloom.

The pace of the thrusting increased.

_ God! Yes! Please! _

As passionately and furiously as he bit down, his teeth never broke the surface of those ridges.

Garak bit back and  _ he _ drew blood.

Bashir begged and cursed and rode and was fucked.

He was revved up, drunk, drugged, and beyond caring about anything except for the pleasure and the need.

Again he begged.

He needed a hand on his cock, bound as his wrists were. The need throbbed in him as he awkwardly rubbed against the Gul, seeking some kind of relief.

It was torture.

Borrowed air…

Borrowed time…

Despite the intense erotic sensation as Garak destroyed his asshole, he couldn’t come without something more.

How long could the Cardassian possibly…?

Julian bore down, moving as hard and fast as his body would allow.

The room and his head both spun.

He saw lights.

Colors.

Otherworlds. 

Borrowed time…

This was how he would die…

And then Garak fell backward, dragging Bashir with him, and thrusting so hard and so deep that Bashir’s eyes rolled back in his head and he thought he might split in two.

The Cardassian went suddenly still except for the throbbing of his cock.

Bashir felt the rush of ejaculate.

It filled him so hot and fast and thick that it forced its way out of him, seeping down his inner thighs.

He rubbed himself against Garak’s belly and began to draw himself off of the Gul, but he met resistance as the cock inside him swelled thick in the middle. A knot that held fast, locked tight inside, and refused to release his asshole.

He strained against it, his need to come overwhelming.

But with each pull, it felt like the knot inside him would tear him open.

So he begged.

And finally, like it was an afterthought, Garak put a hand on his cock and with a lazy, disinterested tug-- once, twice, three times-- Captain Bashir  _ exploded,  _ sending creamy ejaculate everywhere.

********

Garak considered Bashir, passed out in his lap. He ran a single finger along his ridgeless cheekbone, brushed back dark locks of hair from that smooth, sweaty brow.

A magnificent purchase.

Well worth the money.

Garak stroked the man’s jaw, his neck, running his fingers languorously along his sweat-dampened skin.

In the dim lighting of his quarters, the scent of sex lingering in the air so thick he could taste it, he marveled again that he’d ever found this man repulsive.

He ran his thumb across Bashir’s bottom lip.

Of course, this time, the Terran did not bite.

So docile when unconscious.

There was so much more training to do, a million ways Bashir could please him-- when properly taught.

And Garak quite looked forward to a lifetime of  _ detailed  _ instruction.

********


End file.
